


Through his eyes

by borntoshine



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Canon Universe, Loss of Identity, M/M, POV Kanda Yuu, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, it wasn't supposed to happen, kanda is loosing it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 08:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14712942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borntoshine/pseuds/borntoshine
Summary: In which Kanda is stuck with Allen fighting not to lose himself, and ends up losing his own personal battle.





	Through his eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'll just leave this here.

It grew deep inside me in silence.  
It put its roots in my heart in search of a way to blossom through the arid surfaces of its texture.  
Surfaces that had only once been watered to life. Watered from the very stream of emotions Alma have been able to scar me within the short life we shared together. A stream of emotions that I couldn’t recognize for what it was. 

I was fooled.  
Fooled by my own existence, by my memories and beliefs.  
If I only had known. If I only could have known.  
Everything crushed on me in the most uncontrollable way brought in the situation I was stuck with the only two existing lives able to make me feel, even in a reverse instance.  
I still feel it. 

The shock of the betrayal from Mugen the moment I realized its blade had pierced into Allen’s body. I feel the blood pooling between my fingers, its warmth calling me back to reality.  
The screams of pain bit back into the younger’s throat while he kept staring at me with those eyes of his. Full of emotions as strong as Alma’s very soul had had always soiled my mind with.

Watching back to that memory still leaves me breathless for a moment too long.  
I had Alma dying between my arms for the second time. Even if I thought I had killed him for more than ten years with my own hands, I always wished to feel the pressure of his corpse on my body that much I guess I created a very realistic feeling of that picture.

When it happened for real, I realized I couldn’t bear to feel it anymore. Not again. Not if I could make a change in the events. Alma lifeless body crumbling into dust, filling my lungs with spasms.  
I killed someone I loved once because the events forced me to. I will do it again when the time will call for it, but this time I will do comply with this same very person desires.  
Those thoughts hunt me every moment I spend watching him sleep, which is usually most of the time we spend together. I use to stay away while he’s awake, mostly for fear of recognizing someone else inside him.  
I admit it, within myself, I have no shame of it. I pray for it not to happen even if I know the chances are very few. The person I learned to love in this deceived way of mine could disappear right in front of me any moment.

Coming back for him, coming back to save him from himself after he saved me from my own self.  
A hand for a hand. I cover everything up like this. The rest of the world doesn’t have to know.  
Not even Allen has to know.  
This time is too dangerous, our time could be too short. Will I die before it comes? Will I kill him before it comes? 

As he breathes in the feeble light of the desk lamp lightening the room I’d just want to desperately know the answer. My heart is aching no stop since I’ve seen Alma’s body in the glass.  
All the feelings I thought had been frozen and destroyed to pieces within me had resurfaced and burning under my skin since that very moment, getting stronger and stronger as I stare his breast rising and falling under the blankets.  
I crave him in a way I never experienced anything else than that person, and now that I got to touch what it meant, the only thing last is my lost obsession with that need.  
I’d hurt him, I’d hurt myself if I just dive in.  
But is it worth to fight it?  
“How long will this last?”  
It’s the uncommonly gentle sound of my own voice to bring me back to the room, to the body lying in the bed sleeping, a frown on his forehead. He’s fighting a battle inside his head I will never be able to understand.  
He did fight battles I can’t compare with mine.  
We did fight wars inside, by ourselves. But we did fight wars together. He’s always been there in the attempt to protect me when it wasn’t needed. When it’s been annoying.  
He’s always been at my elbow, at my back, in front of me. He’s always been everywhere and I never acknowledged it.  
My hand moves before I can’t help it. I press my thumb on the soft skin, between the white locks, right there where his eyebrows converge in the frown I don’t like to see on his face.

The way he smiles melts my insides with rage and commotion, it makes me crave for more and desire to erase the fakeness in the motion.  
It’s a sudden thought but is all my brain can manage to produce looking at the way his childlike features are morphed into something not recognizable as Allen. Everything that always hit on my nerves with him was that plastic smile, and now is the only thing I’d like to see pictured on his face.

“You’re staring.”

Allen is watching him through his lashes, suddenly awake, suddenly there.  
I’m startled. I was not expecting his voice, nor his eyes squeezing sleep away as the boy awakes to fully logic slowly.  
But he’s there, in his body and mind, and I recognize him at first glance.

“You were snoring,” is the automatic retort I manage to mutter, trying to hide my surprise from showing too much, knowing it doesn’t make much sense. I am guilty, I was staring.  
To my displeasure, Allen doesn’t bicker back as I was expecting. He just closes his eyes with a tired sigh, turning on his side and cuddling in the bed’s blankets.  
I observe him as his body still without a real reaction, and can’t help to wonder what the other is thinking.

“Aren’t you hungry? You’ve been sleeping from forever, I’m starving,” I sat out of the blue, trying to get the other to interact, to make him act alive.  
It’s been frustrating to spend the little time I manage to cope with an awake Allen as the boy had been so lethargic, but something that worries me the most is the lack of appetite, something that for a parasitic type of innocence holder like him isn’t common at all.  
And I do worry because that can’t mean anything but bad. And when the white-haired one shakes his head a little, I’m not having it. I stand with a grunt and turn my back to him, approaching the room’s table.

“Here’s some rice and meat packed from the room service—” I say, bringing the tray of food to the nightstand and Allen sighs. “Eat, when I’m back this must be empty”.  
Allen just stares at me, turns on his side and slowly sits up without breaking eye contact.  
My insides clench.

“Why are you leaving?”  
I’m not sure why this question hits me like a punch in the guts, but I move away, avoiding his eyes now, “I’ll get my lunch in the kitchen,” is my answer before I turn the doorknob.

“You always leave,” Allen murmurs, sleepy and with a note of distress that stops me at once, a shiver running down nape to toes, and I turn to look at him again. He seems so small between the blankets, pale and lost, I can see he’s struggling to hold himself up on his elbows.

“But I always come back,” is the answer that genuinely leaves my lips, and there is no filter, no hesitation. It sounds like a promise and I instantly want to bite my tongue but the way Allen’s face relaxes means I’ve said the right thing. 

For once.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote in 2015, I keep writing it now but not sure I'll post any of what follows. It gives me feels.


End file.
